


and i was running far away, would i run off the world someday?

by pandizzy



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genderwap, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author Pretends to Know Latin, Author is Quarantined, Depressed Ronan Lynch, Explicit Language, F/F, Lesbian Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch is Bad at Feelings, Rule 63, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23434207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandizzy/pseuds/pandizzy
Summary: “No, no, no, no,” Cheng continues, “I’m saying she looks very much in love.”Blue blinks.“Yes, Helen, that’s the entire point of this entire conversation.” He points at Rowan, “She’s in love with Parrish.”“I hate you two,” Rowan says.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> any medically dangerous behavior is ok. this happens in a universe where corona doesn't exist.
> 
> only the kid (??) characters are swapped. the parents are still their original genders. I'm looking at you, Niall lynch.
> 
> thank you to ari for putting up with me while I wrote this.
> 
> this work was inspired by rizha and irene ferreiro in their interpretation of joana and cris in the season 2 of skam españa (no, i am not ashamed)

Eve Parrish is wearing a skirt.

It’s a big event. Everyone knows it, although no one is paying the proper attention. Instead of the usual old pants, Eve elected to leave her long white legs bare, with just her ankle socks as an extra covering before the black sneakers. Rowan has known Eve for ten years, ever since her family moved to the county, and she can count on one hand the days she wore a skirt. Three, once when they were eight and there was a birthday party for Johanna Kavinsky after class and two times in their early teens when Eve started sleeping over at Rachel’s and borrowing her clothes. Eve prefers stained jeans and dusty sweaters worn so thoroughly that her knees and elbows have poked holes into the fabric.

Her entire outfit is wrong. it’s as if, instead of trying to not call attention to herself and her body, she’s trying to impress someone. Eve has a white t-shirt on and, although the shirt is normal, her long brown hair brushes against her sides, instead of the ponytail that she seems to love so much. 

And she is wearing a skirt that day. Blue wool, reaching her mid-thighs and exposing her long white legs. It’s new. Rowan can see that. The ink has yet to be washed out and the fabric still pools around her waist, instead of dropping down with the years of gravity. Eve doesn’t like gifts, more often than not refuses them, and yet, Rowan can’t imagine the other girl willingly buying a checkered blue shirt so it must be a gift, but from whom?

She's laughing at something that Rachel Gansey said, although in her own quiet and discreet way, before offering some words to the subject. Rowan is seated across the cafeteria, too far to hear what is being said under the cacophony of lunch, and she is forced to look at their expressions, the way Eve's smile reaches her blue eyes and her perfect teeth shine like round pearls.

"You're staring," Blue Sargent murmurs in her ears, placing his lunch trail down on the table and seating. Rowan ignores him.

Jealousy bubbles in her stomach as she watches Rachel place a kindly hand on Eve’s shoulder, without Eve slapping it away, and Natalie Czerny smiling to her two friends as she seats down with her food tray. Eve chose the mac and cheese, with an apple to the side. Rowan knows that, despite Rachel's insistence of paying for her food, Eve elected to not drink anything in order to save money.

Rowan looks at her own drink. Orange juice, with a green cap and a friendly smile on its wrapping. Suddenly, she wants to toss it to the other side of the room. Instead, she pushes her entire trail away.

“Stop staring,” Blue says, “She’ll notice.” He leans over until his lips are near Rowan’s face and his hot breath gushes loudly against his ear, “You look stupid.” 

“Fuck off,” Rowan murmurs, pushing him away, “Why are you even here? I didn’t call you.”

“I don’t get called,” he replies.

“What does that even mean?” Rowan asks, looking at Blue. “Go away.”

“You can’t ask me to go away,” Blue says, “I’m your only friend.”

Rowan opens her mouth to answer back with something mean and rude, something she doesn’t even have to think about it, but at the same moment the word Fuck starts to leave her lips, Helen Cheng plops down on the table. 

Cheng is wearing dark pink lipstick and blue eyeliner. Her knee-high boots are made of black leather. Rowan thinks she looks stupid, as she normally does, but no one can deny that she is wearing it with confidence. Rowan believes that makes it even worst.

“What about me?” Cheng asks, pouting, “Am I not Rowan’s friend too?”

“No,” Rowan says.

“Maybe,” Blue replies, frowning.

Rowan looks at the two students who invaded her lunch table. She normally eats alone, with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company and the presence of Blue and Cheng is a nuisance at best. She doesn’t want them there. She wants them to leave.

She is about to say as much when Cheng keeps talking.

“Rowan doesn’t look stupid, Blue,” she says, winking at Rowan as if this is supposed to be some form of girl on girl support, “She looks in love.”

“My point exactly,” Blue says, “I’m trying to tell her that Eve will notice it, but she’s not listening.”

Cheng nods, “Of course Eve will notice it, but that’s why we’re were,” she looks at Rowan, “Isn’t it?”

Rowan remembers the first time she saw Helen Cheng. They were six and their teacher decided to put them in a group together, so to allow Rowan to make friends other than Rachel Gansey. After a week, Cheng had made them a card with two little brunette figurines, holding hands. In the drawing, Rowan was smiling, or what looked to be smiling, and her hair was made of macaroni painted over. The day after, Rowan had the teacher move her away and yet, ever since then, Helen Cheng believes them to be best friends.

But Rowan doesn’t do best friends. Not anymore. Not after dad.

“Leave me alone,” she replies.

Cheng pouts and Blue frowns.

“Why?” Cheng asks, drawing out the word at the same time that Blue says, “Yeah, no.”

“I don’t want you here,” Rowan says, “I’m not in love with Parrish, so you two can go now.”

It takes a second before her words truly hit them. Cheng blinks and Blue’s frown deepens before they both start laughing as if Rowan just told them an incredible joke. Cheng’s laugh is loud that it attracts attention from other tables, including Eve’s, and Rachel looks at Rowan with so much hurt in her hazel eyes that it’s like she has stuck a knife into the other girl’s back.

“That’s funny,” Cheng says, wiping away a single laughing tear from the corner of her, “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so much.”

“That was clever,” Blue murmurs, “Quite good.”

Rowan stares at them as they slowly stop laughing, recomposing themselves. Blue is first, and then Cheng. After they are done, Blue suddenly stops laughing and gets his plastic spork in hand, sticking it in a pot of mac and cheese.

“The problem isn’t your denial,” Blue says, “It’s how you look at her. It’s very weird.”

“I wouldn’t say weird,” Cheng murmurs, “I would say…”

“Serial killer-ish?” Blue offers.

“No.”

“Stalker-y?”

“No, I’m just trying to say…”

“Oh!” Blue interjects, “I know, I know, I know.” He smiles, smugly, “She was looking at her in a really sad way.”

Rowan blinks and thinks about standing up and leaving, maybe even dumb her orange juice on Blue’s head. It would call attention, and probably prompt a visiting to the guidance counselor, but it’s not as if she cares about those things. 

“No, no, no, no,” Cheng continues, “I’m saying she looks very much in love.”

Blue blinks.

“Yes, Helen, that’s the entire point of this entire conversation.” He points at Rowan, “She’s in love with Parrish.”

“I _hate_ you two,” Rowan says.

“We need a plan,” Cheng starts. She turns to Rowan, “What’s your phone number? I’m creating a WhatsApp group chat.”

“I don’t have a phone,” Rowan says, “I hate phones.”

Cheng looks at Rowan as if she had just admitted to killing the Queen of England, with wide eyes and a dropped chin. She blinks twice, tilting her head slightly, and smiles, nervously.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Blue leans in, sticking his head between the two, “She said she doesn’t have a phone.”

“Yes, I heard that,” Cheng says, “I just didn’t believe it.” Her face softens and she smiles, blinking innocently, “That’s fine. I’m fine.” She takes a deep breath and her shoulders relax, “What’s your Facebook? I can create a messenger group.”

“No.”

“Do you have anything?” Cheng asks, slapping her hands on the table.

Rowan shrugs, “I have a house. You can send me a letter.”

“Do you even know how to read?” Blue asks, frowning.

Rowan elects not to answer that. She elects to not say anything and only stare at the two people in her table, calmly eating their mac and cheese and hamburger. Helen chews her food in silence, thinking, and Rowan’s stomach grumbles, empty. She doesn’t say anything as she uncaps her juice and downs it in one clean gulp.

Helen leans forward, touching Rowan’s arm with her long red nails, and smiles. “Tell me, lover girl, what’s up with the face?”

Rowan pulls her arm away.

“What face?”

“Why are you staring at Eve Parrish?"

Rowan blinks. She is not going to answer, she isn’t even going to express any emotion. Maybe this will make them finally go away.

"I know why," Blue says, setting his mac and cheese aside and takes a yogurt from his tray. He uses the same spork to eat it, "Eve is wearing a skirt."

"Oh," Cheng whispers, understanding finally, "I see.”

“See what?” Rowan murmurs.

"You are a thirsty lesbian," Blue says in the same tone that one would describe the weather or a homework assignment.

"Don't worry," Cheng is quick to say, "It happens to the best of us. I still remember the first time I listened to a Madonna song.” She places a hand on her chest, “It gave me chills.”

Blue frowns, “I thought you were bisexual?”

“Irrelevant,” Cheng murmurs, “This is about Rowan’s sexuality, not mine.”

Two days before, the school’s principal explained to Rowan in clear words how she couldn’t get into fights anymore. He called her to his office because of an altercation with Kavinsky, where they both entered the nurse’s office with bleeding lips. Unlike Johanna, though, Rowan had a record. His eyes had been soft, or what his old bald head thought soft was, as he said that he understood what she went through in the previous year, but that he couldn’t make any more excuses for her, as if Rowan wanted excuses as if she didn’t want to leave that damnable school, get into a car and never come back.

“Very well,” Rowan said in response, “I will not fight anymore in school anymore.”

An hour later, after everyone left the school grounds, Rowan punched Johanna’s face for getting away with it and Deirdre’s rage at being called by the administration still burns at their small, two-bedroom apartment.

She remembers Deirdre's anger as she looks at Helen, blinking slowly. It would do her no good to get into another, fight.

“I think she had a sleepover with Rachel last night,” Cheng continues saying as if this is making everything better. Helen looks at Rowan with wide, sad eyes, “I might have seen Rachel wearing that shirt at my mom’s party last week.”

“It’s a white shirt,” Blue points out, “I could go out there right now and buy you an exact copy. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Everything means something,” Cheng says, looking half-mad.

Rowan looks at her trail. She had gotten a hamburger, with cheese fries, plus the empty juice bottle. Suddenly, the food feels old and stale, poisonous. She looks back at Eve, whispering at Rachel’s ear, and her heart crumples in her chest. _Of course,_ thinks, _of_ course. She feels like a deflated balloon at a kid's birthday party: forgotten, not fun anymore. Empty.

Rowan looks at the watch on her wrist, an insistence from Deirdre, 12:17. Three more minutes and she’d have class. For the first time in her entire life, Rowan Lynch is looking forward to algebra _._

“What we must do now is clear," Cheng continues saying.

“What?” Rowan and Blue ask at the same time. Rowan looks at the boy and he looks back at her, a weird expression on his face as if silently saying _Don’t tell anyone that we think alike._

Helen smiles, fakely. Rowan thinks she looks weird like this. Kind of like the Other Mother, in that childhood movie that made Matilda cry for a week. Cheng must think she looks maternal, or at least that’s what she hopes for. Instead, she just looks crazy.

“We will help Rowan and Eve fall in love!” she whispers, looking around just to make sure the other tables aren’t listening in, “It will be so romantic. I already have plans, guys. Just you see.” Cheng giggles, “I will talk to Rachel, see what she knows. She has been friends with Parrish for so long...”

“No,” Rowan says, stopping the phrase before it becomes too dangerous for her. Her blood boils at her veins, and instinct of fight or flight takes over her. Her entire body shakes, “You can’t talk to Rachel. Not in my name, at least.”

Cheng makes a face that is even worse than her Other Mother expression. She bites her lower lip, smudging her dark pink lipsticks, and bats her eyes, like a cartoon character would do. This face isn’t loving like the other one or even kind and gentle. This face is full of pity.

“I know you haven’t talked in a long time,” she says, slowly, “Not since… well, you know what. But she could help. Eve tells her everything.”

Blue groans. He doesn’t want to be there, Rowan notes. Good. She doesn’t want him to want to be there. She doesn’t even want him to be there, by her side. She has started to wonder why she hasn’t left yet, why she even came to school today, when Blue opens his mouth and starts talking.

“Why does it matter?” Blue rolls his eyes, brown and angry, “If Eve doesn’t like Rowan, then your entire plan goes to shit.” He leans in and his dark brown hair, spiky and short, sways on his head, like a ship out in the ocean, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Eve saying she is into porcupines.”

“You’re one to talk,” Rowan replies, half-offended.

Can anyone even be half-offended? Is there such a thing as a half-offense? Like a half-crime? Or is that petty crime? Or is this like her parent’s old parties, where guests would throw racist and homophobic jokes, laughing as if they are good people by making fun of it when, in reality, they are just shitty people. If she tells herself that this is like her parent’s parties, then maybe she will feel better about not leaving yet.

“Of course Eve likes Rowan,” Cheng says, shaking her head, almost if muttering _silly Blue, silly boy,_ “It’s true love.”

“This is real life, Helen,” Blue says, taking one of Rowan’s cheese fries with his thin grubby fingers, “Not your Twilight fanfiction.” 

Cheng sticks out her tongue at him. “You’re mean.”

“I’m honest.” He looks at Rowan, “Tell her.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Rowan replies and takes her plate of fries out of the way when Blue tries to take another one.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” Cheng says, beaming, at the same time that the bell rings.

* * *

_Mark the following questions as true or false. If your answer is false, explain why. The calculation is needed for full marks._

_(True or False) The inequality |x + 1| < 0 has no solution. _

_(True or False) If a and b are negative numbers, and |a| < |b|, then b - a is negative. _

_(True or False) The equation 2x + 7 = 2(x + 5) has one solution._

_(True or False) The multiplicative inverse of -1/4 is -1/8._

_(True or False) x ÷ (2 + z) = x ÷ 2 + x ÷ z_

_(True or False) |-8| - |10| = -18_

_(True or False) (8 ÷ 4) ÷ 2 = 8 ÷ (4 ÷ 2)_

_(True or False) 31.5(1.004)20 < 31.6(1.003)25 _

Rowan looks at her paper and then at the window, wondering if the teacher would notice her sneaking out. She probably would, but that’s beyond the point. Rowan shouldn’t have to be here, it’s illegal. Or something.

This class is on the first floor and the window is wide open. If she throws her backpack out the window and asked to go to the bathroom, then she could be out of school grounds in less than ten minutes. Rowan walked fast when she wanted to, and she had driven here, her car keys weighing heavily on her back pocket. Deirdre would be angry, of course, but isn’t that the fun of older sisters/legal guardians? She looks at her teacher, nose deep into the latest edition of _Us Weekly,_ and figures there is no better time than now.

Carpe Diem and all that shit. 

As she slowly sticks her pen in her backpack, a pale hand comes into her field of vision, quickly dropping a folded piece of paper over her exam. Rowan stops and looks up. Her teacher still reads her magazine and the other students are engrossed in their tests, barely paying any attention to her. She turns slightly to her side, just to see who handed her the note and finds a girl with long brown hair and blue eyes. Her tanned skin peeking from underneath her blue skirt like an invitation. 

Eve Parrish doesn’t look distracted. It’s as if she has been in the same position for hours, slowly scribbling at her paper, without anything to drive away her attention, like a runaway student. Her ankles are crossed and she is pressing a pencil to her lower lip. She has deep-set eyes, with bags underneath that she doesn’t hide with makeup. She looks like a Greek statue, beautiful and immortal. Something only an artist could’ve made, with precise tools and hours of work. Maybe even months.

Her blue eyes travel to Rowan for a second before she turns back to her desk.

Rowan looks at the note, sitting carefully over algebra. White paper, with blue lines. The teacher allowed them to use pages from their notebooks for drafts, and more difficult equations. Rowan knows that if she looks at Eve’s desk, she will see a page of the same paper, though with a ripped bottom.

She opens the note, carefully placing her hands on her lap so as to not let anyone else see.

_leaving already?_

Rowan looks at Eve, who in turn is looking at her, head bent ever so slightly as to not let anyone else see. Eve Parrish shrugs.

 _boring class is boring_ , she writes. With the snap of her pinky, Rowan lets the paper fall from her desk. Eve rolls her eyes before she bends over to take it from the desk.

A minute later, the same paper plops from her own desk. With a swift movement of her leg, Eve kicks it away deliberately, not too far for her to pick up, but just enough to be a nuisance. Rowan sighs and takes the paper.

 _math isn’t boring,_ Eve wrote, with her perfect handwriting.

Rowan looks at her and mouths, “Nerd,”. The other girl shrugs, a shy smile on her thin lips.

As Rowan turns back to her paper, she wonders what she should write. You look nice today is fine, but too vanilla for her taste. Eve looks beyond nice, as she always does. 

Do you want to do anything later? could seem too forward. although it got to the point, and she didn’t even know if Eve liked girls. Last year, Blue dated her for a total of two weeks, before they broke up on mutual terms, and Blue is a boy.

But the B in LGBT isn’t short for biscuit.

 _your entitled to being wrong,_ she writes instead. This time, Rowan slides the paper to the edge of her desk, alongside her eraser. When Eve bends to take it away, she takes the eraser too, as if she was borrowing it, and not exchanging notes.

She snorts as she reads, a little too loudly for Rowan’s taste, before writing something short at the end of the ripped paper.

 _you’re*_ she wrote. Rowan turns to Eve, hoping that her lack of amusement is transparent on her face, and Eve is laughing silently, her shoulders shaking as quietly as one can be.

“Fifteen more minutes,” the teacher says, raising her head. The mark of fifteen minutes is a sign to the rest of the students, as they can finally hand over their tests and leave the class, and most of them do. Boys and girls of different heights and races step outside the math class, letting out a breath, and only Rowan and Eve remain, alongside their old teacher. Her green eyes lock straight into Rowan, turned to Eve, as the other girl looked dutifully to her exam, “Rowan Lynch, please refrain from bothering Eve.”

Rowan frowns, narrowing her eyes.

She looks at her own exam, as blank as a printed paper can be, and takes her pen. Truth, truth, truth, truth, truth, truth, truth, truth. Eve stands up at time that she does, with a flourish provided by her long hair and skirt. Rowan stays, frozen in place, as she walks to the teacher’s desk.

After she leaves the class with not so much as a goodbye look, Rowan hands her exam to the teacher’s outstretched hand.

She clicks her tongue disappointingly at the answers.

“I wish you’d make an effort, Rowan,” she murmurs, “You used to be one of my top students.”

“I used to be a lot of things,” Rowan answers, without meaning to.

The teacher sighs and smiles, sadly. Her wire-framed glasses dangle over her chest and she puts them on, looking at the paper again

“Your life has not been the best and this is reflected in your grades.” She shakes her head, “I’m afraid you might fail math this year, Rowan.”

“I suppose,” Rowan says, “But I was never the smart sister. That was always Deirdre.”

“Yes, I know,” she says, “But you had potential.” She shakes her head again, her trash magazine forgotten by her side.

* * *

_Stupid locker. Stupid book. Stupid algebra. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

Rowan shoves her chemistry book into her locker, finding a narrow opening between her physics homework from last year and Deirdre’s beaten copy of Lord of the Flies. A handful of papers slip out, flying down to the ground too slowly, almost mockingly so, and, as she bends over to get them, something around the world that she doesn’t understand or gives a fuck about shifts and her math book falls out, dropping loudly by her feet.

She sighs loudly. Her day has not been the best. Maybe not in her top ten. Definitely not in her top fifty of good days. Rowan straightens her back and looks at the mess around. A part of her wants to kick the books and paper before leaving school entirely, allowing her mess to be cleaned by others, even though the school’s janitor never said anything when he caught her sneaking out, while another part just wants to drop down and lay on the ground, like a starfish.

Her locker remains open and she can see the mess inside, quite clearly. A better person would probably take this as an intervention by God, a divine sign that she should clean this up, but Rowan hasn’t been a better person in a long time.

She kneels and takes the papers first, holding them underneath her armpit as she gathers the book. It’s too heavy for her to grab it with just one hand, as her teacher had decided to use just one book for the duration of the four years of high school, _like a psychopath._ Rowan stands on wobbly feet, her center of gravity switching with the added weight of protons and periodic tables.

“You need a hand?” a voice says, soft and familiar. Rowan looks up and sees Rachel Gansey walking in her direction. Rachel is smiling. She looks at the chemistry book and then at Rowan, expectantly.

“No,” Rowan says and then adds, “Thank you.”

She shoves the book back on her locker, along with the pile of crumpled papers, as Rachel watches in silence. It’s a battle of sorts before she can finally lock it, as Lord of the Flies had decided to move halfway through, disrupting the balance. When she is done, Rowan turns to leave.

“Wait,” Rachel says, raising her hands, as if she planned on grabbing Rowan’s arm, “I saw you with Blue Sargent and Helen Cheng today at lunch.”

“Yeah,” Rowan murmurs, “It wasn’t my choice, though.”

She doesn’t know why she said that. Maybe because it felt better to say it out loud, to make her feel better about having lunch with two kids she exchanged as little as two words to in the best. It’s easier to blame others, although still hurts like a thousand stab wounds in her skin. 

Or maybe she is saying it because this is Rachel. Rachel Gansey, her first real friend, who would eat the mud cakes Rowan made as kindergartens, who stole one of her father’s cars at thirteen because Rowan had her first period while they were home alone. Rachel, whom she hasn’t talked to in almost a year, and who cried fat and snotty tears when Rowan told her that she didn’t want them to be friends anymore. 

“No,” Rachel says, “That’s good. I mean, I’m glad for you.” She shrugs, “Blue is cool.”

 _I don’t care_ , she wants to say. _I don’t care about Blue, I don’t even like him. I love you. I miss you._

“I guess,” she says, instead.

Rachel chuckles, looking down for half a second, before looking up again.

“I missed you.” Rachel’s eyes are shining, but Rowan doesn’t think she’s about to cry, not now at least. She seems hopeful, almost, “We should do something. Just the two of us, like old times. What do you say?”

Rowan thinks about saying yes. It would be easy. She thinks about seating in Rachel’s beat-up old car and telling her everything, leaving nothing to hide. It would be good to talk to someone again. Deirdre had her see a shrink once; after she was released, but Rowan never returned after that one session, too ashamed and angry to say anything more. But this is Rachel and everything would be different from her.

And yet. All that can Rowan see is her father's face as he pushed her inside the closet. "Stay here," he said, pressing a finger against his lips, "And don't come out until I tell you to, okay?"

She blinks and looks at Rachel, who stares at her expectantly, like she did before, with the book.

"No," Rowan says, "I can't."

She turns to the other side, away from Rachel and her heartbroken expression, but, as she slowly walks away, she feels a soft tugging at her wrist, just below her pulsing point. Rachel’s fingers brush against her sleeve and Rowan feels her heart quicken in her chest. She has a black shirt on, something from a metal band that her mother gave her, thinking that she’d like it. Underneath this t-shirt, though she has another, long-sleeved and white. The scars are not far from the hem of her sleeve. Rachel would just have to curl her fingers inward to feel and it's this thought that has Rowan pull her hand away violently.

Rachel whimpers.

"I wish you'd just talk to me," she whispers, "I could help you if you would just let me." Rachel tilts her head and her eyes are like Helen Cheng's. Full of pity, "I came to your house. After what happened. Every day for a month. You weren't there."

 _Yes,_ Rowan thinks, remembering her grandmother's soft hands and how everything in Ireland tasted like ashes in her mouth, _I know. Deirdre told me._

“You’re hurting,” Rachel continues, “Let me help you.”

“I don’t need help,” Rowan responds. _I only need punishment._

The girl she once called her best friend sighs and smiles, like one would do to a duck with a broken wing or a dog without a leg. Something incomplete. Something broken.

And wasn’t that Rowan?

"Your dad was murdered," Rachel says, clearly, “And that hurt, I know. Let me be your friend. Please don’t send me away again.”

"I'm sorry," Rowan says and she truly was, "But I can't."

Rachel frowns and her lower lip trembles. Rowan suddenly remembers her friend's affinity for crying, how she always seemed to do it, no matter if it was a commercial with a happy dog or an offense from the world and the universe itself to her feelings. Once, she found it annoying, now, she thinks of it almost as an endearing thing.

"Why?" Rachel asks, "Is it because of me? I-I I wanted to attend the funeral, but they said relatives only." She steps forward, "Is it because of something I did? If it is, then I am sorry, for whatever I've done. Please, Rowan, just let us be friends again."

 _No_ , Rowan wants to say, _it's not because of you. It's never because of you. It's because of me. Because I destroy everything. Because I kill everything I touch._ She wants to say so much, but the words clog in her throat, and she chokes.

"I'm sorry," she says instead, "Now please leave me alone." Rowan turns and walks always. Leaving was what she wanted and yet, she doesn't feel better by doing it. In fact, she feels worse.

_Because I killed my father and I don't want to kill you too._


	2. Chapter 2

Niall Lynch was a mystery, to himself and to his family. He was born in Ireland, where his mother still lived and moved to the States as a young man. He didn’t come from money, and yet he had it, being as flimsy and dark as one rich man could be. Rowan never learned how her father had so much money, not until after his death anyway. She didn't even know his real job before the police and cracked the perfect glass dome around them, revealing the horrors of the world. More often than not, she’d wake up one day and find her father missing, gone in the middle of the night.

“Business trip,” her mother would say, patting down her brown-haired head, “Do you want some eggs?” 

And that was it. The name Niall or _dad_ wouldn’t be muttered in the house for weeks on end, even months sometimes, until he returned, as quickly as he had left. That was the thing with dad: he left, but he always came back. Sometimes, Rowan would come home from school and find him sitting at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper like it was 1956, with a mug of coffee by his hand as her mother cleaned the dishes behind him.

“You’re home,” Rowan would say, running to him with all the excitement of an eight-year-old.

Niall chuckled at that. His laughter sounded like a cutting knife or the booming voice of Santa Claus from the cheesy movies. Rowan never decided whether she loved him or hated him. 

They were alone in the house when he died. Matilda needed clothes for a summer camp and mom took her for a shopping day. A girl’s day, with mani-pedis and Starbucks, to top it off.

Rowan decided not to go. Deirdre had left for college the past fall, and everyone’s eyes had turned to her for the next big thing. Father had dreams for her. He told her himself.

And Deirdre did everything right. It was hard being her sister. She got into Harvard, studying Law like it was the easiest thing. She had been dreaming about that since they saw Legally Blonde on tv, while their father was away on his trips, and Matilda bothered their mother in the kitchen. Rowan still remembers that day, memory clear as day. 

“You got into Harvard Law?” Warner asked, shocked.

Elle tilted her head on the tv, wearing Reese Witherspoon’s young face, “What? Like, it’s hard?”

Deirdre, twelve years old, turned to Rowan then, “Someday, that is going to be me.” They were laying on a Persian rug, with a bowl of popcorn between them. And she studied for the rest of her teenagehood, forgoing parties and _fun_ to become the best lawyer there ever was. Her words, not Rowan’s. 

Rowan remembers sitting in that same tv room, laying over the same Persian rug, where her father pretended to watch a police drama, while really watched her do her homework. She was trying to understand trigonometry when a car pulled over on their driveway. Niall Lynch must have recognized the motor, or something, perhaps the way the dirt crunched underneath the wheels, or maybe he was even expecting those people because he stood up suddenly. Rowan stared at her father, meaning to ask him what was wrong, when he ran to her, grabbing her arms and pulling her up forcefully.

“You’re hurting me!” she cried out as he pulled her to the corridor, up the stairs, and into her room, “Dad, let me go!”

“Be quiet!” he barked out and his voice was meaner than she had ever heard it. Scared, too.

Her room was dirty, her bed unmade. Rowan took Deirdre’s old laptop the other night, to watch something stupid on YouTube that she couldn’t remember, and it was still there, opened on her writing desk, with bags of skittles she snuck from the kitchen around it. A bottle of sprite was open next to the candy, half-empty, with the fizz being completely gone.

Any other day and her father might have stopped right there, telling her to clean her room and make herself look presentable to his friends. Brush her hair, put on something nice, and act as delightful and charming as he needed her to be.

Instead, he opened her closet door and pushed her in. Rowan’s feet caught in a pink shirt that was left on the ground and she fell, instinct making her extend her arms forward in an attempt to protect her head. She turned, then. Rowan wanted to scream at him, ask him why he was treating her like that, but the expression on his face made the words die in her throat.

He looked terrified. His eyes were wild and his skin, pale; white as a ghost’s. When he raised his hand to brush a hair out of her sight, she could see how much he was shaking.

"Stay here," he said, pressing a finger against his lips, "And don't come out until I tell you to, okay?"

“Dad--” she tried to say, but, before the words could come out, he stood up and closed the door.

Current Rowan would have gotten out. She would’ve followed her father down the stairs, asked him what was wrong with him and who had arrived, but past Rowan stayed put. Fifteen years old, skinny legs and long brown hair. Rowan sucked in a breath as she heard her father exit her room, climb down the stairs, and open the front door. His muffled voice greeted the newcomers, but Rowan wasn’t able to understand what they were saying. Maybe if she did, she’d feel less guilty later.

The closet wasn’t completely shrouded in darkness, the sunlight barely seeping in, but the air became stifling hot. She hugged her knees, pressing them closer to her chest in an attempt to still her rapidly beating heart. Rowan tried not to panic, her mouth opening slightly, trying to get more air in. It didn’t take long for the conversations to end, leaving room only for the gunshots.

Two. One followed by the other in rapid succession. Rowan had only heard gunshots in movies, where the sound is lowered to protect the ear of an average woman, and nothing could’ve prepared her for the real thing. A noise so loud that her ears buzzed, her head ached and her heart sped up in her chest. For half a second, she thought the shooter was in her room. Rowan touched her chests and legs, almost expecting to have an open wound in her skin, before a man cried out and fell, his body thudding painfully on the ground.

“Daddy…” she whispered. She had never called him that, not as far as she could remember, but her mind was racing and she couldn’t think. When Rowan crawled forward, intent on opening the door and climbing down to see her father, his voice whispered in her ear. _Don’t come out until I tell you to._

The vision of her phone came to her eyes. Her father had taken it to ensure she wouldn’t get distracted from her homework, and it was downstairs. Laying on the couch. They got rid of their landline years before and the realization hit her like a slap.

If she wanted to call 911, she would’ve to go downstairs.

Rowan doesn’t know how much longer she stayed there. She heard a car leave, something that ought to have her feeling safe and secure, something that _should_ have made her run downstairs to save her father, but Rowan couldn’t help thinking that it was all a trap. That they wanted her to think she was safe, only for them to shoot her as well. Her fear paralyzed her, grounding her body to the carpet. By the end of it, her stomach was grumbling and turning inside of her after hours without food, and she needed to pee. Badly. 

She heard another car coming in, a woman’s voice saying something to another person, _stay in the car, my darling_ , and then a female scream that she would later know to be her mother’s. Then more cars, with sirens and flashy lights that sneaked inside her closet.

“My daughter was in there!” her mother shrieked, so loudly that Rowan could hear her clearly despite the closed closet door, “They took my baby!”

A better person would have come out then, climbed down the stairs when she knew it was safe, but Rowan was not a better person, and her father hadn’t told her it was safe to leave yet. Instead, she crawled even more inside the closet, burrowing in the corner, with her face half-hidden by her childhood pants that Mom never got around to donating and an old french horn poking her painfully between the ribs.

Her room’s door opened and she heard steps coming in. The person stopped, as if looking around, and, half a minute later, someone opened her closet. She saw dark hair, searching eyes. She saw a man’s blue jacket, with the symbol of Henrietta’s Police Department, and he must have seen her too. It was impossible not to.

“Hi,” he murmured, in a sweet and gentle voice, like she was eight and not fifteen, “Rowan, right? I’m Officer Park. You’re safe now.”

He was not dad, though. For all she knew, he could be working for the people that killed her father, that were trying to kill her too for being there.

“Rowan, everyone is very worried about you,” Officer Park continued saying, “Your mother especially. She wants to see that you’re safe.”

Something twisted inside her at the mention of her mom and Rowan looked at the police officer. He had black hair and brown eyes, his skin darker than her own. He was wearing a standardized uniform, as well as the cap, falling lopsided on his head.

“You’re not dad,” she whispered, her throat aching with unshed tears, “I can’t leave until dad tells me it’s okay.”

Officer Park puckered his lips and gave her a sad smile.

“Rowan, I’m so sorry…” he started, but she already knew what he wanted to say. She had known it for hours.

Her father was dead. Bled out, due to two gunshots on his gut. 

What he didn’t say and that Rowan would later learn, after a thousand sleepless nights spent with her eyes glued to a Google screen, is that it took hours for him to die. He agonized over it and even tried crawling out, to call for help, even though the Barns was located on the end of a dirt road, with nowhere around for miles.

If she had come out and walked downstairs once she heard the first car pulling out, she could’ve called 911 and her father would still be alive. 

But she didn’t.

* * *

_Nino's. Six o'clock. Be there._

Rowan looks at the note in her hand, and then at the pizzeria in front of her, trying to decide whether it’s worth going in. She thinks back to when she exited the elevator at their apartment building and saw Cheng giggling to herself as she slipped an envelope inside their mailbox, stashed against the wall amongst countless others. Rowan pretended not to see her, as she ran away with her pink boots and a black crop top that no one could use unironically. When she opened the mailbox, the thing that Deirdre had specifically asked her to do, she saw Cheng's letter on top of bills and other correspondence.

 _For Rowan Lynch_ , said the careful handwriting over it, with a purple-ink glitter pen that smelled of grapes. Rowan took the note, leaving everything else behind, and saw the invitation to a meeting.

She considered not going, especially once she saw that Cheng dotted her Is with little hearts but decided against it since Deirdre would probably want to do something that Friday night. Something that would bring them together as a family and make them _bond_. Something that Matilda would love and convince Rowan to participate in it out of respect for her. Something appalling, like monopoly or karaoke night.

And so, here she is, standing in front of Nino’s, with the sense that she could just turn around and drive away. Or to just stay in her car and wait for hours to pass, maybe even convince someone to bring her a pizza.

But, for some reason, she doesn’t. She climbs out of her BMW and walks inside the pizzeria, telling herself that she isn’t going to stay long. That she will just stay for a few minutes, eat something paid by Helen, and leave. Yeah. Sounds like a good plan.

Cheng is sitting on a table by the window, drinking with a metal straw from a soda can, and her eyes light up when she sees Rowan coming in. Her hair is up on a bun, and she isn’t wearing make-up. She looks so simple that Rowan almost steps back in shock.

“Hey,” Cheng says, waving and Rowan sits on the chair in front of her, “I ordered a pepperoni. Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s whatever,” Rowan answers, “So, what do you want?”

Cheng smiles oddly like she has a nefarious plan or something, and Rowan wishes she had stayed inside the car.

“I’ve come up with a few plans to get you and Eve together,” Helen says, pulling a laptop from her bag, “I will not rest until I see your love blossom.”

“I’m leaving,” Rowan says, preparing to stand up.

“No, no,” Helen says, “I promise I’ll behave. Just… I worked really hard on this, okay?”

Rowan looks at her. Helen’s brown eyes are wide and she’s pouting, nothing too forced. She sees something in the curve of her cheeks and the slight wrinkle between her brows that make her stand down, sitting back on her chair and crossing her arms.

“Fine,” she says, “But nothing musical, or exaggerated.”

Helen murmurs something that sounds too much like _there goes my plan C_ , but nods, opening her laptop. Rowan watches her put on her password, something with numbers and too many letters, and her homepage opens, with a picture of Madonna plastered behind the icons.

Cheng says nothing before loading the PowerPoint app, and selecting a file called _ <3<3<3<3 rove forever <3<3<3<3\. _

“You made a PowerPoint presentation?” Rowan asks, incredulous, “And what the fuck is _Rove_?”

“Your ship name. _Ro_ wan and _Eve_ ,” Helen answers as if the answer should suffice, “Do you like it?”

“Should I like it?” Rowan asks.

“No,” a male voice says beside her, and Rowan turns, seeing Blue Parrish by her side. He’s wearing a white apron over his blue shirt and dark jeans and his face is neutral, but somehow angry, at the same time. Rowan almost curses. She had forgotten that Blue worked there. His brown hair is pushed back by a fabric band. He’s holding a pizza with his left hand, “It’s a dumb ship name. And I told her as much.” 

Rowan nods, feeling validated.

“You guys should be called Pynch, it sounds much better,” Blue continues saying without hesitation. He drops the pizza on the table, “Do I need to serve you?” 

“No,” Helen says. She points at the chair next to her, “Sit down.”

“No,” Rowan and Blue say at the same time and they exchange a strange look.

“Why not?” Helen pouts.

“I don’t want him here,” Rowan explains, half-lying. She looks at Blue, then at Helen, “This is girl stuff.” She puts emphasis on the last phrase, arching her brows.

She’s not exactly being honest. She doesn’t care if Blue hears about her crush on Eve, or Helen’s plans to win her. It’s just hard enough being with Helen, in this strange situation. She hasn’t hung out with anyone outside her sister-circle since dad died and mom was committed.

Rachel liked to come here, but would never force Rowan if she didn’t want to. That was one of her attributes. She never pushed people too hard.

“That’s not cool,” Blue says, “I can be part of girl stuff. Look.” He does something with his face, swallowing down and dropping his eyelids just enough. He takes off his headband, letting his hair fall on his face like a brown curtain, and Rowan doesn’t know what he’s doing until it’s too late, “My name is Rowan Lynch and I am a seventeen-year-old lesbian that would rather stalk my crush than actually talk to her.”

“Wow,” Rowan says, keeping her voice dull and uninterested, “You’re so funny. You should be a stand-up comedian.”

“Thank you,” Blue says, pulling his hair back. He pulls out the chair and sits down, placing his arms atop the table, “Shoot it, Cheng.”

Cheng smiles, a strand of black hair falling on her eyes, “Thank you, Blue.” She starts her presentation, “I spent the entirety of last night gathering information on Eve Parrish, and let’s just say: if she was a class, I’d be on AP.”

Blue looks at the screen with a mix of disgust and awe, “It’s a shame you don’t put this much effort into your actual classes.”

“Irrelevant,” Helen murmurs, her face lit up by the blue light, “Here.” She turns the laptop screen to Rowan. In it, there’s an image of Eve from the yearbook of their freshman year. Her face is washed up from the light and her hair is perfectly brushed down. Her eyes are wide and gentle. She’s wearing an old striped t-shirt, with the top two buttons unbuttoned. She’s not exactly smiling, with closed lips and neutral eyes, but Rowan thinks she looks beautiful. Beside the picture, there is a list of information that Rowan doesn’t bother to read, though Helen quickly does it for her, “Eve Parrish. Her birthday is June, 3rd, so that makes her a Gemini. She’s very smart. Aces all her classes. She excels at pretty much everything she does. She wants to go to Harvard.”

Rowan wants to say that she already knows all that, but that would only make Blue feel more righteous in his idea that she’s stalking her.

“Yeah,” she says instead.

Helen skips to the next page, where there is an old picture of a girl. She has long brown hair and blue eyes that shine. Her cheeks are flushed pink, and there is a small smile on her lips, barely showing her teeth. She’s not wearing any make-up, but her face looks better, cleaner, from the roman nose to her long eyelashes. The girl doesn’t exist anymore, and Rowan just stares at her, thinking she’s looking at a ghost. On top of the page, there is a large phrase written in bold: **WHO IS ROWAN LYNCH?**

“I’m sorry about the old picture,” Helen says, not looking at Rowan, “Matilda didn’t accept my friendship request.”

 _Good,_ Rowan thinks. She doesn’t want her sister and Helen to be friends on Facebook.

“I don’t think you need to read about Rowan’s personality,” Blue murmurs, cutting a slice for himself, “Just…” He looks at Rowan, “What do you want from Eve?”

“I want…” Rowan hesitates. _What do I want from Eve?_ , “I want her to like me. I want her to hold my hand and kiss my face. I want us to cuddles. I want to go to a coffee shop. I want to see her geek out about something. I want…” _I want her to be my girlfriend._

Helen’s eyes well up with tears at the same time that Blue shakes his head, unamused. He points an accusing finger at Rowan, “You’re just censoring yourself.”

“What?”

“That’s some vanilla shit,” Blue says, “This is the most boring and bland confession I’ve ever heard.” He takes a bite out of his pizza, “Give me the truth, Lynch.”

“The truth?” Rowan repeats and he nods, “Fine. I want her to sit on my face. I want to kiss her boobs. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Blue smiles, victoriously, and Helen’s eyes are wide and shining, like a kid coming downstairs for Christmas. Before Blue can answer, though, the door opens and Rowan turns involuntarily, her brain wanting to see who just arrived.

She regrets the decision rather quickly. Rachel saunters in, Eve behind her, and their eyes meet. Her old friend is wearing a navy-blue dress, with polka dots, while Eve has a white shirt on and washed-out jeans.

Rowan’s cheeks burn without her meaning to and the anxious part of her brain wonders if Eve heard what they just said. If she heard what _Rowan_ just said, about boobs and faces, then Rowan is ready to get on her car, drive away and never come back.

Rachel doesn’t hesitate. Instead of looking around for an empty table (they are the only ones there, so maybe that’s why), she quickly crosses over the salon and pulls two chairs. Eve following, with a neutral expression on her face. Helen and Blue are sitting side-by-side, so it makes sense that they sit next to Rowan.

Except Rachel never did anything that truly made sense before.

Eve smiles when she sits beside Rowan, her mouth tight and her eyes soft, while Rachel chooses a place at the head of the table.

“Hey,” Rachel says. She frowns when she sees the laptop screen, her eyes going from Helen to Rowan, “Are we interrupting anything?”

Cheng slams her laptop shut, quickly putting it away, “No.” She smiles, “We’re just chilling.”

Rachel doesn’t look convinced, but Eve only looks at Blue with a quizzical expression on.

“Shouldn’t you be working?” she asks, with all the intimacy that an ex could have.

“I am,” he says, eating more pizza.

Rowan decides to put a slice on her own plate, thinking that this is better than the staring contest going around the table. Pepperoni isn’t really her favorite topping, she prefers the cheesy ones, but she says nothing, as she picks it up, eating as slowly as she can.

She can feel Rachel’s eyes on her, as well as Eve’s, and she chews to refrain from talking.

“So what’s going on?” Rachel asks, “How is everyone doing?”

“I’m fine,” Blue says. He finished his old slice, and had a new one in his hand.

“Me too,” Helen answers, “We’re just helping Rowan with some matters.”

“Really?” Eve says, still looking at Rowan, “What sort of matters?”

Rachel’s eyes are wide and curious and Rowan realizes that she’s there for her, not for any sort of friendship between her and Helen, or any budding romance with Blue.

Rowan swallows down her pizza, a knot going doing her throat painfully.

“Nothing much,” Rowan says, angry that Cheng put her in a spot, “Just…” She looks at Eve. Does she know that she likes girls? Has Rowan ever actually come out? “Girl problems.”

Cheng widens her eyes, perhaps not expecting that answer, but a smile bubbles on her lips. Eve frowns slightly at that and Rowan wonders if she it was probably a mistake. _Just let her know you like girls,_ a voice says on her ear. _Be subtle._

“Really?” Rachel asks, “How so?”

Oh, Rowan wasn’t expecting a question like that. She hesitates even more, her eyes meeting Eve’s, and tries to wonder what sort of decisions she made that led her to this moment.

“Nothing much,” Rowan answers, “Unrequited crushes, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would ronan be as subtle? i cant tell. im just on a high


	3. Chapter 3

When Helen Cheng opens the door wearing a sparkly-blue tube dress, Rowan almost turns around and goes back to her car.

Something stops her, though. Something warm inside her stomach that she tells herself is pity, and Rowan sticks her hands inside her pockets, scowling forcefully. Helen smiles when she sees hers and says, “Hey, girlfriend,” in a nasal voice that makes Rowan regret every decision she has ever taken that led her to this moment.

“Hey,” she says, nodding slightly.

Helen’s smile grows bigger, as if that is even possible, and wobbles to the side. She is wearing black high heels, although Rowan is certain that she doesn’t know how to walk in those, and her legs are covered by a gray pantyhose. Her lips are painted with a blue lipstick, and her eyeshadow feels very similar to those YouTube tutorials Matilda loves to watch.

“Come in please,” she says, voice soft and inviting. Her black eyes appraise Rowan from head to toe and her lips curl in displeasure, before smoothing down to its usual smile, “You look so gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Rowan says, knowing Cheng is lying. She is wearing her usual black leather jacket, and skinny dark jeans, with her beaten down boots. Her hair, buzzed short, is starting to grow, forming a brown fuzz over her white head, “You do too.”

Rowan steps inside the house, looking around. The hall leads directly to the living room, where she sees a standing bar and two large gray sofas. Blue is laying sprawled on one of them, drinking from a can of root beer with a metal straw. One of his eyes is open, while the other is close, and he looks relaxed, almost asleep. When she comes closer, however, he looks at her.

“Hey,” he says, “You look human.”

It’s not a compliment, Rowan tells herself. It’s not an insult either. It’s just a dumb comment from a dumb boy.

“Thank you,” she answers, remembering her manners, and her lips hurt as she smiles, “You don’t.”

Blue gives her the middle finger and Rowan ignores him, turning back to Helen. The other girl is smiling, already opening her arms into what can only be a hug, before stopping in her tracks, as if remembering who she is talking to.

“Please, feel free to do, eat or drink whatever you want,” Cheng says, “ _Mi casa es su casa.”_

“Sorry,” Rowan answers, “I don’t speak Italian.”

Cheng frowns in response, as if trying to determine if she is joking or not. When Rowan does nothing but stare back at her in neutral numbness, she smiles again, her entire face lighting up. She looks around, to Blue in the couch, and then back at Rowan, before setting her eyes in a table full of stuff, snacks, and drinks, soft or otherwise. Rowan noted, rather sadly, that nothing alcoholic seemed to be around.

“Who else is coming?” she asks, instead of complaining.

“Rachel and Eve,” Blue answers, sitting up. When he finishes his drink, he crushes the can under his foot like a football player on a teen movie, “Rachel was actually very insistent on coming.”

“Yes,” Cheng murmurs, wobbling to the food table. She takes a handful of doritos to her mouth, trying to eat as elegantly as possible, and failing miserably, “It was actually very strange. Didn’t know she cared so much about me.” Helen looks at Rowan, then, as if saying, _Rachel is doing this for you, dummy. Not for me._

As if Rowan didn’t already know that.

Electing not to respond to the provocation, if you can even call it that, Rowan walks around the room, examining it with her eyes. She sees pictures of Cheng growing up, as well what most likely is her mother and siblings, although Rowan notes a suspicious lack of paternal figures in the family photos.

What attracts her attention the most, however, is the pool on the back of the house, visible from a window in the corner of the room. Rowan doesn’t remember the last time she swam, only that it was before dad’s death. As a child, she had respiratory issues, and swimming was something her doctor recommended to her parents to improve her health.

Rowan loved swimming. It felt like flying. In the water, she was weightless, untethered. Unbothered.

But after hitting puberty and shedding those awful allergies, it felt less important. And then teenage laziness kicked in. At thirteen, she stopped going to classes completely, trying not to look back.

“My little brother is going to the Olympics,” Cheng explains, right behind her, and Rowan tries not to show her sudden fright, “Or so my mother claims.” Helen shrugs, smiling tightly, “He’s actually quite good at it. Trains every day.”

Rowan nods, “Where is he now?”

“Road trip,” Helen says, “My sister has to go to California for a debate-club competition, so mother took everyone along.”

“Everyone except you?” Rowan asks, arching a brow.

Helen Cheng frowns slightly, almost confused, or maybe trying to understand the meaning behind Rowan’s words. She must have given up, however, and her face quickly smooths down, the ever-presenting smile returning to her pretty features.

“Yes, I guess.”

Rowan returns her eyes to the pool. It glows, most likely because of the lamps under the waterline. Looks clean, even if it hasn’t been used in days since Cheng’s brother left for California. Clean and inviting, like a mother’s hug.

Before she can tell Helen and Blue that they should go for a swim, the doorbell rings and Helen screams in delight. She wobbles to the door, clapping lightly, and Rowan walks away before she can see Rachel or Eve’s beautiful face coming in.

She ignores Blue in the couch, sitting with his long legs sprawled before him, and explores the living room some more. There is a flat-screen television, and even more pictures of Cheng’s mom and a man that might be her father, although Rowan can’t say for sure.

She walks and walks, before finding a door, hidden behind a knit curtain. Rachel and Helen talk, hidden in the alcove leading to the entrance door. Before Rachel can see her and come talk to her, Rowan tries to open the door and is more than disappointed at realizing that it’s unlocked. Aren’t the Chengs afraid of robbers? Maybe she should do something to show Helen how dangerous it can be, although the cops wouldn’t accept _the power of friendship_ as a good excuse for breaking into a private home.

She steps out of the house and walks to the pool, her feet leading her even without her command.

Rowan toes off her boots and socks, looking at the crystalline water. Her jacket comes next, thrown callously on the marbled floor. She rolls her pants up, past her ankles, and sits down at the border. The water is cold as she sticks her warm feet inside, but Rowan tells herself not to care, wiggling her toes in an attempt to loosen the tension of days without end at school and then at home with Deirdre and Matilda…

Suddenly, a memory comes to her. Rowan and her grandmother in Ireland, walking side by side in the beach. Grandma Mary was too old and her arthritis too severe to walk without help, usually by a cane, and she often had Rowan by her side to support her small frail body. They would walk in the beach every day for the entire month Rowan was there. After a while, it stopped being annoying and became comforting.

Her grandmother would point to the round rocks with her cane, and say, “See how smooth they are, child? It’s because of the water. The water drags away everything that doesn’t belong. Every problem, every mistake. It takes and takes until everything is in its rightful place.”

So, Rowan closes her eyes and swings her legs softly, pretending she is back in Ireland with her grandmother. She doesn’t think about the pool seeping away her problems and issues, like leeches sucking off her blood, but allows it to calm her down.

“Are you going in?” a familiar voice calls behind her and Rowan turns, seeing Eve Parrish walk in her direction.

Eve looks beautiful. She always looks beautiful, but more so at that moment. She was wearing a dark blue t-shirt and denim shorts, tight around her thighs. Her hair is swept back in a ponytail, hanging high on her head, and she wears military boots with what looks to be three knots on the laces. She isn’t wearing any noticeable make-up beyond a red lipstick and winged-eyeliner so sharp she could kill someone.

Rowan stares at her crush for what feels like hours before she finally finds her words again.

“No,” she answers, shortly.

Eve smiles, taking off her own shoes and socks. Rowan looks beside her for just a second, catching Helen observing them intently from the window. Their eyes meet, blue and black, before Cheng scurries away, ashamed of having been caught watching.

Rowans turns back to Eve, who is sitting by her side. The other girl places her feet inside the water as well, wiggling her toes. With their faces so close, Rowan can see the brown freckles peppering her nose and cheeks.

“Hey,” she says.

A smile comes to Rowan’s lips without her meaning to, “Hey.”

Eve looks at the pool and then back at Rowan, who hasn’t looked away. Her eyes are brown, though not dark like Cheng’s. They are warm and sweet, the color of chocolate. Rowan thinks she could stare at Eve’s eyes for hours and hours.

“You look good,” Eve says and there is nothing in her eyes to say that she is lying.

Rowan feels her cheeks burn and knows that she must be blushing.

“Thank you,” she answers, “You look beautiful.”

Eve’s smile grows and her cheeks fill with color as well. She places her hands on each side of her body and their fingers touch gently, maybe accidentally, maybe on purpose. Rowan thinks she has beautiful hands, with a jutting thumb, prominent veins, and long fingers. Rowan thinks everything in Eve is beautiful.

“Thank you.” Eve looks behind them, where Cheng’s house is, “Helen has a really nice place.”

“Yes,” Rowan answers, “I think her mother is loaded.”

“A lot of people in Henrietta are loaded,” Eve answers, but her mouth doesn’t have anything that says she is upset by her words. Rowan wishes she could kick herself for forgetting Eve’s financial situation.

She decides to change the subject, if only slightly.

“Did you come here with Rachel?” she asks, not looking at the house where Rachel must be. Helen is probably annoying her to leave Eve and Rowan alone, maybe even with Blue’s help.

Eve nods, “Yes. When Helen invited us, she changed her schedule around so we could attend.”

“That’s cool,” Rowan says, unable to keep the jealousy from bubbling in her chest, “How close you two are with Helen.”

Eve frowns slightly, leaning back as if not understanding what Rowan said, or maybe having expected a different answer.

“Are you kidding?” Eve asks, arching her brow, “We are here because of you.”

“What?”

“Rachel insisted on us coming because Cheng promised you would be here,” she answers.

Rowan frowns and looks away, unable to hold the intensity of Eve’s stare. “Why would Rachel want to be with me? I was very rude to her.”

Eve chuckles and there hasn’t been any other sound more magnificent than the sound of that laugh, “Yes, you were.” She shakes her head, “But Rachel loves you. She knows you don’t want to hang out with her anymore, so she decided she will befriend everyone you talk to so you will have no choice but spend time with her.”

Rowan bites down the urge to make a joke about stalkers and only looks at Eve, staring right into her. Eve looks back at her, blinking softly. Her eyelashes are long and blonde, curling upwards in her eyelids.

“It’s not like I don’t want to hang out with her,” she starts, “It’s just hard. Having friends is hard.”

“I understand,” Eve replies, and her voice is full of comprehension.

There is nothing forcing Rowan to continue speaking, but for some reason she does, the words spilling from her lips.

“It’s because of my dad,” she says, shaking her head, “After he died, dealing with friendships became impossible.”

“That’s okay,” Eve answers, “Your father died. It’s understandable having difficulties in moving past that.”

Rowan turns to the pool, unable to look in Eve Parrish’s eyes and see the kindness reflected there.

“My father was murdered,” she murmurs, speaking so low that she barely hears herself.

“I know,” Eve says.

“I was there, did you know that? In the house with him.” Rowan looks at Eve for just a second, seeing the shock overtake her pretty features, before turning back to the pool and its blueish waters, “Most people think I was with my mother and sister at the mall when it happened, but I stayed back at home. Had to do some homework, I think. Nothing that matters now, though.” Rowan licks her chapped lips and bites her inner cheek to keep herself from crying, “I heard the shots and I was in the house when he died. If I had done anything, like call an ambulance or something, I could have saved him, but I didn’t. He died because I was scared and a coward.”

“You were fifteen,” Eve replies, “He died, because someone time shot him twice. Maybe we will never know who it was for sure, or why, but what happened wasn’t your fault. You need to stop punishing yourself.”

Rowan smiles, almost laughing, and her grin tastes like blood in her mouth, “I wish I could tell myself that. After he died, I was– I was a– I.” She tries to speak, but the words catch in her mouth, unable to leave, and she chokes on the truth.

Eve places her hand over Rowan’s and her skin is warm and soft, even with the callous born from hours of hard work at the mechanics. They intertwine their fingers, thumbs rubbing each other gently, and suddenly everything feels easier.

“Tell me,” she says and that is what takes for Rowan to talk and talk without ending.

“I tried to kill myself,” she says, remembering Deirdre’s desperate face and Matilda’s cries as their mother drove her to the hospital, “Overdose, all that could stuff. I thought committing suicide would make it better, make the pain go away, but instead, it made it worse. When I woke up, I had to deal not only with my father’s death but to what I had done to myself as well. The lengths I would’ve gone to. I spent a week at the hospital, without a phone or anything, before my mother decided I needed to leave Henrietta and the memories.”

“That’s why you were gone for an entire month,” Eve murmurs, “No one saw you and Deirdre never told us anything. Rachel thought you were ignoring her.”

“I was in Ireland,” Rowan says, “My paternal grandmother is still living there, even after my father came to the United States, and mom thought we could grieve together. Move on together.”

“How did it go?”

“Better than I imagined, I guess,” she says, “We would go to church every Sunday, and I had a hundred chores. Help her cook, help her clean, remind her to take her meds. Everything. It was tough, but good. At the end of the month, I returned here in a better shape than when I left,” Eve smiles, “And then I found out my mother had a mental breakdown while I was away and my sister Deirdre was awarded custody of Matilda and I until mom could take care of us again.” Rowan takes a deep breath, willing her shoulders to loosen, and she looks back at Eve who hasn’t stopped looking at her, “The end. That’s the sad story of Rowan Aurora Lynch.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Eve murmurs, “Some things aren’t fair.”

Rowan nods, “I know.” She tilts her chin up, her eyes turning to the dark night sky, “I know He has a bigger plan to each of us, but I can’t help but think this was a sick joke.”

Eve doesn’t respond, not even looking at the sky like she is, which makes Rowan turn to her crush, almost confused.

“You’re not religious?” she asks, and Eve shakes her head, “And your parents?”

“I don’t think so,” Eve answers, frowning slightly as if trying to remember a time in her life when her parents might have showed a religious sentiment.

“Then why did they name you _Eve_?” Rowan questions.

Eve shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe they thought it sounded nice?” She twists her lips and Rowan wonders if maybe it was a mistake to mention Mr. and Mrs. Parrish.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, boldly.

Eve shakes her head and Rowan almost thinks she is going to refuse to answer her question, but, for some reason, she doesn’t, “I don’t like my parents.” Her voice is low, but determined, as if it is something thought over and discussed over the course of weeks, even months. Eve doesn’t like her parents and there is nothing that will make her change her mind.

“Why?” Rowan takes care to keep her voice free of any expectations and emotions, trying to sound simply curious and understanding, like Eve was barely a minute before.

“They’re assholes,” she murmurs, and Rowan is shocked by the crassness of her words, “Narcissists. They probably had me just because that is what was expected of them. You get old, you get married, you have kids. They don’t love anyone but themselves, and they make sure I know that. _Every single day_ for the past seventeen years.” She shakes her head and looks back at Rowan, eyes wide and glassy, “Why am I even telling you this? You’ll probably just tell me to enjoy my parents while they are still here, because you know how hard it is to be without them.”

“No, I won’t,” Rowan replies, “If you say your parents are assholes, then they are assholes. You know them better than me.” She shrugs, “Some people aren’t meant to have kids.”

“Yes, I agree,” Eve answers and smiles, “You are a nice person, Rowan Lynch. Even if you don’t want people to know that.”

Before she can answer however, Eve leans forward, pressing their mouths together. The kiss is brief and quick, but meaningful, and Rowan’s chest hurts from the intensity of her heartbeat. Her stomach turns and her palms sweat, but she closes her eyes, kissing Eve Parrish back.

When they move apart, they are both smiling.

“We should return to the party,” Eve says, although Rowan isn’t sure if a get together of five people can even be called a party.

But she doesn’t say that. She only says, “Okay.”

As they return to the inside of Cheng’s house, Rowan doesn’t let go of Eve’s hand and she thinks she never will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my windows word was very upset due to my use of the word assholes, and thought you guys would be offended. are you guys offended?

**Author's Note:**

> remember this is the first chapter. any questions will be answered along the story ;)


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